He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. They would suffer amazing hardships to hunt the snow-leopard; but in the Temple of Five Hundred Gods they would not take the trouble to ask the name of one! But this girl, she was alone. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. White assented. When he returned, it was always the same. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life.
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